#stop by a dessert place :>

[canideadmeow]

successfully planned a full-fledged solo date for my birthday, i hope it doesn't rain that day tho :)

[yeehawevan]

things I did not do today:

finish my drawing

finish the chapter I was writing

make it to blick before it closed to buy a roll of paper because I need larger paper

things I did do today:

wasted time at work coming up with concert program lists (and solo pieces for solo & ensemble) for my fic

go to the poster house museum with my friend

almost pass out because I forgot to eat for a whole day and it was like 80 degrees out

[nescafes]

the more i make a ship absolutely devastating and borderline traumatising in my head, the more it means i love it (very very much)

[twilightcunt]

Dairy Queen needs to stay in their lane. I don’t want to try that fuckass burger, give me my blizzard.

[penitenteyeball]

Dum de dum dum

Gonna add max tags and max characters to each cause who cares

[chiefofboatwatsonstittymug]

People are too mean to lard it's up there with my favourite cooking greases, after sesame and really good olive oil and about on the level with groundnut

[pillbaby]

camboy!satoru who's your roommate. obviously, when you first moved in, you didn't know this. wouldn't have ever guess it, either. he seemed too innocent for it, too soft and nerdy. he's the sweetheart of the campus, after all.

camboy!satoru isn't the best at being quiet at night, when he's in front of his monitor, red light blinking at him. when he's on-screen, it's hard not to let himself go. it just turns him on, the thought of all those people getting off to him.

camboy!satoru who you want to strangle, especially at those dead hours of the night, when you can hear his moans and groans and whimpers. it's just hard to sleep with all that noise. it's even harder to sleep when your panties are a soaked mess, because you're trying you're hardest not to touch yourself to your roommate.

camboy!satoru who, at first, you thought was just having girls over. that didn't make sense, though. you weren't hearing another person, and you weren't seeing anyone over. maybe he was just a porn addict?

camboy!satoru, you find, isn't a porn addict. he is the porn. you hadn't even meant to find out, you'd just been scrolling through a x-rated website, when you stumbled onto some guy's video. you don't remember what prompted you to click it, just the fact that you'd been eager for some release, and your roommate was out for the day.

camboy!satoru who's face isn't shown, but you didn't need that to figure out it was him. you could tell by his room, even if you've only been in it a couple times. it had the same figurines in the background, the same bedspread. his favorite posters stuck on the wall. it didn't take a genius.

camboy!satoru who's video you watch, anyways. despite the fact that you know. despite the fact that it feels a little morally gray. you cum on your fingers and the sheets, then once more when you stalk his page and watch another one. fuck, you're on you're third video, when you notice something odd.

camboy!satoru who's not using any toys in this one. when you squint harder, you realize it's a pair of panties. he's got it wrapped around his hard cock, pumping the length of it. his eyes are squeezed shut, and he's whining to himself, even biting his fist.

camboy!satoru who's not just using any pair, he's using yours. holy shit, your baby blue pair that you couldn't find, that you assumed the washing machine ate, that so perfectly matched his eyes. that bastard had not only stolen them, but jerked off to them. you can only watch in utter shock, as he cums ropes of sticky white all over them, making a mess.

camboy!satoru who's room you're literally breaking into, trying to see if he'd hidden them somewhere in there. you do end up finding them, placed in a cardboard box under his bed. you hold them up, unintentionally clenching your thighs.

camboy!satoru who must've come home early, because you can hear shuffling outside the door. you don't have a moment to react, not even to hide what you're doing.

camboy!satoru who looks sheepish, like a little boy who stole an extra cookie for dessert. except his cookie was a piece of cum-stained fabric. he tries to make this make sense, but he's never been that good with his words, so he just fucks his explanation into you instead, in hopes that'll work. to his luck, it does.

camboy!satoru who's dick is better in real life, than over camera. he's got you in the most cruel of positions, shoving his length into you. you can feel every drag of his tip, every stretch of your walls. you can't stop clenching around him, and it's driving him crazy — in the best way possible.

camboy!satoru who gets you to orgasm a countless number of times that night, like since he finally has you, he never wants to let you, or your tight little pussy, go.

camboy!satoru's who latest, most hit stream is titled "fucked pretty roommate instead of her panties this time!"

camboy!satoru who's not such a sweetheart, after all.

[thenanamis]

SHUT UP AND OPEN WIDE

— JJK men when you ride their face like you own it ❤︎

KENTO NANAMI

The second your thighs frame his face, Kento’s control snaps. All those hours of composure, that tie-and-collar perfection? Gone. Replaced by animal hunger.

You barely lower your hips before he groans into your cunt, tongue dragging through your slick like he’s tasting the first drop of water after months without. He wraps those strong arms around your thighs and locks you down like a fucking vice.

He doesn’t eat. He devours. His tongue flicks and curls and fucks into you like he’s not breathing. His nose grinds into your clit until you’re gasping, arching, trying to run—

Too late.

"No, no," he growls against your slit. "You don’t move. You begged for this."

And when you cum? Screaming, hips trembling? He doesn’t stop. He eats through it, groaning as your slick floods his mouth. Only when your thighs are shaking violently, when you’re slumped forward babbling nonsense, does he finally pull back, breathless.

Only to whisper:

"I’m not done yet."

And pull you back down.

SATORU GOJO

Satoru wants you up there. Wants that pussy soaking his tongue. But once you’re on top?

He’s unhinged.

You settle down, and he moans like he just got high. His mouth is sloppy from the start — spit and slick mixing as his tongue slaps up against your clit, fast, hungry, unforgiving.

You try to be cute. Try to control the pace.

He bucks his mouth up into you.

Then grabs your ass and grinds you down, nose buried against your swollen clit, growling as he tongue-fucks you like his life depends on it.

"Come on. Soak me. Fuck my face."

And when you do? When you squirt hard across his mouth with a scream? He laughs through it — tongue still moving, hands locking you in place, riding it out with you.

You collapse forward and he just holds your thighs open, kissing your soaked cunt like it’s dessert.

"That was so fucking good.. Think you can give me another one?"

SUGURU GETO

Suguru stares at your pussy like he’s about to worship it — but don’t be fooled. The second you sit down?

He moans so deep, you feel it in your spine.

His hands stay firm, one gripping your waist, the other trailing along your inner thigh. He teases first — slow, agonizing licks, the kind that make your clit twitch and your hole flutter — and then?

He sucks. Hard. Directly on your clit, tongue flicking with brutal precision, watching the way your hips jerk.

"You love using me like this, don’t you? Getting off while I suffocate underneath you."

He groans like a man obsessed, spit and slick coating his chin. You start grinding, and he slaps your ass, tongue flicking even faster.

You cum once. Twice. And he doesn’t let go. Doesn’t let you off.

His fingers dig deep into your skin and he pulls you down harder, drowning in your pussy like a prayer answered.

CHOSO KAMO

You barely straddle Choso and he’s already panting — his breath hot against your slit, pupils blown wide like he’s possessed.

The moment your pussy touches his mouth? He moans so loud you jolt. And then his tongue is on you — fast, messy, desperate, licking and sucking like he’s drowning in it.

He doesn’t even think. He just holds on — arms wrapped around your thighs like you’re the only thing keeping him alive, tongue fucking into you with wild, sloppy strokes. You hear him murmuring, almost crying:

"So good—tastes so good—don’t stop, don’t stop—"

You try to lift off and he whines, yanks you back down by your hips and ruts up into you with his mouth like a cock, hips jerking on the sheets below from how turned on he is.

You cum so hard your legs collapse — and he still doesn’t stop.

"One more. Please. Just one more—"

TOJI FUSHIGURO

Toji grips your thighs like meat the moment you mount him — rough, bruising, starved.

You lower your pussy onto his face and he growls, tongue already slamming into your hole, licking up through your folds, then flicking your clit with harsh, quick strokes that make your vision split.

You barely get a second to breathe before he grips your hips and slams them down, forcing your full weight onto his mouth.

"Don’t fuckin’ hover. Sit on it like you mean it."

You try. You try to stay up. But he’s too intense — slurping, sucking, spitting on your pussy just to lap it up again. You cum so fast you scream, thighs convulsing — and he just grinds his face harder into your cunt.

"Still twitching? Good. I’m not done till you go limp."

RYOMEN SUKUNA

You straddle Sukuna’s face, already shaking — and he just laughs.

Then he grabs your hips, yanks you down, and fucking devours.

It’s not careful. Not gentle. It’s tongue and teeth and spit, your slick pouring onto his face while he fucks you from below with his mouth like a rabid beast.

"That’s it. Use me. Rub that filthy little cunt all over my face."

You grind. You bounce. You soak him. And he loves it — moaning, grinning, eyes locked to yours as he slaps your ass and growls into your core.

You cum hard — voice cracking, pussy clenching, your whole body convulsing above him — and Sukuna just grabs your throat from below, voice rough:

"Don’t you fucking move. I’ll tell you when you’re done."

You end up sobbing. Legs useless. And Sukuna? He’s hard, leaking, smirking beneath your ruined cunt.

"Get ready. You’re gonna ride my cock next. No breaks."

[eimearkuopio]

I think God eats stories, and gods eat stories, and priests tell gods stories so that they can tell God stories, and that's kind of what prayer is.

But maybe the kind of stories God likes best are ones about Them. So They tell us stories, over and over, so that we won't be afraid to go to sleep. Because that's where gods see God, most of the time. My heritage is a bit weird. The Doctor has two hearts, and Bones doesn't care about the rules as long as people get saved. You've all been telling me stories about myself (and about the rest of God!) my whole life. So I guess it makes sense that eventually I would go back and tell all of you about those stories, and the accident might change a little from telling to telling, but the substance remains the same.

I love you all. Please remember to love yourselves and your neighbours and your God. I'll try to pass on what I can, but the finite self is fine with being last on the list. That's how she survived. Just don't forget that you have a place on the list; and that a part of you is God too, because we can all be transformed, and Jesus was the version of God who taught me how to do that so that someday I could go back and teach Him. You should absolutely follow Him if you don't have shelter, but realistically, any god in a storm. Or saint. Maybe don't eat your gods so much. I think only God is really okay with that in the long run. But the rest of us still love you too.

[esote-rika]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐭 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Category: Smut 18+ MDNI

Summary: Teasing your virgin boyfriend was all fun and games, until he’s too worked up to function. When the layers of clothing fall off, you’re in for a delightfully large surprise.

Content: 3.2k words, virgin!Spencer, kinda sub undertones, he’s hung af and really fucking whiny, fingering, hand jobs, raw p in v but reader is on the pill, multiple orgasms, Spencer cries because he needs it so bad, reader wears lip gloss, dacryphilia (lemme know if I missed anything)

a/n: Truly just 3.2k words of filth. I wrote this instead of the next chapter for my thesis and I have no regrets. Also, a lot of my italicized words got lost because formatting on the app truly is the bane of my existence, but I reached a personal milestone and wanted to celebrate! So yay, here's a fic as a thank you for supporting my blog and writings ❤️

Sometimes dating Spencer Reid meant throwing subtlety out the goddamn window; the man wouldn’t know subtext if it hit him square on his beautiful, perfectly sculpted face. All your subtle attempts to seduce him have all been entirely unsuccessful, and you're beginning to wonder if he even wants you that way. 

In your defense, you've been dating for over two months now and he still hasn't initiated anything beyond making out. It’s been making you antsy. Of course, his hesitation is nice. It comes from a place of respect after all, and there’s something endearing about his gentle touches, large hands ghosting over your body. You appreciate this easy, steady pace you've set for the relationship. 

But after a particularly busy week for both of you, you've been left aching and needy for something more. 

When you finally found a time that works for both of your schedules, you decided it would be time to make your move. Fuck waiting for him to initiate. You can do it yourself. You'd been subtle about it at first—a hand on his thigh, a few inches higher than where you'd normally place it, lips running over his jaw. 

The man had simply laughed nervously, and returned with a kiss to your forehead.

Briefly, you wondered if it truly is because he's not into you that way. However, that thought flits right out of your pretty head when you see the unmistakable tent slowly forming in his pants. 

So you’d upped your actions, nibbling at his earlobe in the middle of dessert, fingers trailing up his inner thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. Screw subtlety. (And hopefully, him too.) By the time you two sat in the back of the cab, he’s a squirming mess.

“S-stay the night?” he’d been so shy about it you debated teasing him a little more. Maybe if you weren’t so horny, you would have, but relief had simply flooded your veins. Finally. So you nod, teased him a little more in the back of the cab until he had to grab your wrists and hold them in place, because he swore he’d probably come in here just from one more brush of your palm. The lightest pressure and he’d be a goner, a pathetic mess, and you hadn’t even really done anything. 

There had been no build up once you got into his apartment. Simply an exchange of quick, sloppy kisses, Spencer pushing you deeper into his house until the couch hits the back of your knees and both of you came tumbling down. He’s already rutting his hips against your thigh, his erection hot even through his slacks. Clumsy fingers strip off fabric and shoes, leaving them strewn haphazardly on his living room floor.

You had pushed him away then, grinning enticingly as you went to straddle his lap. You ground your hips in circular motions against his still clothed crotch, gasping as the obvious bulge gives you even more traction to rub on. 

“No fair,” he whines, fingers leaving crescent shaped indents on your hips, “P-please stop teasing, you’ve been doing it all night.”

He’s so tightly wound it’s almost pathetic. He’s lucky you’ve some semblance of mercy left in your body, because you could probably come undone just from the friction that came by dry humping him. But you relent, sitting back on his thighs as you tug at his underpants. 

“All right baby, since you asked so nicely.”

Thus exposing what’s going to be the small issue of the night.

Rather, the large issue.

His cock springs free and for a moment you just stare at it. Red, veiny, pulsing and huge. Larger than anyone you’ve been with, larger than even the toys that hide in that one drawer in your bedroom closet.

“W-what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You paled a little.”

A shaky laugh escapes your lips, “You didn’t tell me you were hung.”

His eyebrows scrunch, so ridiculously adorable you have to bite your lip to stifle another giggle.

“Hung?”

“Yeah, like, your dick is huge.”

Red blooms across his cheeks, “It’s - it’s certainly above average—”

“You know what the average length is?”

“I-in North America, yes.”

“I didn’t know you swung that way, baby.”

He groans, moving to hide his face into the crook of your neck, “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, I know, I’m kidding.” You manage to shift and catch his head before he has a chance to press it to your neck. Your lips land on his, and he’s pushing his tongue inside your mouth sloppily. When you pull away for air, you add, “You’re just bigger than what I’m used to.”

“Is that bad?”

Is it? One hand wraps around the base of his cock, stroking up delicately, testing out the girth and the weight of him. He shudders, muscles tensing. His fingers dig into your hips. With a grin, you reply, “On the contrary, I think it’s exciting.”

You position yourself over him then, letting the blunt tip run up and down your slick folds. The friction makes you both shiver. Every single ridge and vein of his cock catches on your sensitive flesh, and you can’t help but start moving your hips up and down, rubbing your folds over the length of him. 

“You’re - ah - so wet.” his tone is wretched with desire and awe.

“All for you baby.” You continue your ministrations, letting his length part your folds, the tip hitting your clit at certain angles. His cock is covered in your slick within moments and your poor boyfriend looks like he’s about to combust. You feel the twitch of his cock, the shift in the way he moves his hips—rocking up desperately against you—and you know he’s close. So you stop.

You’re rewarded by another whine.

“Please,” his grip is hurting you now, palms clutching handfuls of your ass. You don’t think he’s even aware of how tightly he’s doing it. “Please, I’m so—”

“Spence, do you really want to cum without even being inside me?” That shuts up his whining. “Mhm, didn’t think so.”

“Can I— please, just—”

“What?”

“Wanna touch you.”

Your lips tug into a smile. At your nod of assent, one of his hands let go of your ass to move to your pussy, the pads of his fingers quickly locating your clit.

“Fuck, Spence,” your head falls forward, forehead meeting his, “Faster, baby.”

He obeys, tilting his head forward to capture your lips. Your mouth opens to him, muffling your moans as you begin to move, shamelessly riding his hand. His finger finds your entrance, dipping shallowly, hesitantly, but you’re so wet that, with a quick thrust of your hips, the digit slips all the way in. 

Spencer pulls away from the kiss to watch, the pupils of his eyes nearly eclipsing the ochre irises as your pussy swallows his finger greedily. Transfixed, he adds another finger and it’s your turn to squeeze and mark up his alabaster skin with crescent marks. 

“Yes,” you groan, gasp, writhe in his lap as his fingers curl and find the sweet spot inside you, “Oh god, Spencer, yes!”

He’s entranced as he pumps his fingers in and you, mouth hanging open as your pussy parts and accepts his fingers so prettily. To reciprocate, your hands—plural, yes both hands—wrap around his cock, starting a slow, lazy pace. That throws his rhythm off, fingers stilling inside you.

“Keep going,” you urge him, hands slowing to a stop as well, “Spencer.”

He whines, hips bucking up into your palms, but something in your voice seems to set him straight. Fingers thrust in and out of you again, long and elegant and stretching you for what’s about to come. Satisfied, you pump your hands over his cock again, twisting them every time you motion up, and squeezing as you go down. It doesn’t take long for him to fall apart, his cock twitching before cum shoots from the tip. Because you’re straddling his lap, it makes a mess and lands on both of you—his stomach, your chest, some even on your hair. 

“Oh god,” he’s whining again, embarrassed, “I’m sorry, I’m so—”

You silence him with a kiss, still stroking him, as your hips move over his hand. His brain manages to work, curling inside your fluttering walls. The movements are messy, uncoordinated as you chase your orgasm and he struggles to catch up. A whine leaves your lips, soft and needy. Something about it must trigger the neurons in his beautiful brain, make him remember you have the perfect bundle of nerves being neglected and he has more free fingers. 

With a slight shift, he presses his thumb to your clit. 

“Fuck, baby, yes!” you cry out breathlessly, head falling forward on his shoulder. 

“Good?” he asks, increasing pressure on that sensitive nub. Small, quick circles. You wonder when he became so dexterous.

You nod, thighs clenched and quivering as your climax nears, the pleasure in your stomach building and coiling into something white-hot and— “Oh, Spencer!”

His other arm wraps around your waist, crushing you to him as he helps you through your orgasm. In the steady comfort of his arms, the rocking of your hips slow to a stop. You feel his lips at your temple, not really kissing the spot, just resting there. Heavy breaths rifle strands of your hair. 

“Oh god,” he sighs, fingers slipping out of you with a pop, “Angel, that was amazing.”

You straighten up, grinning, “We're not done yet.”

“No?”

Eyes dart down suggestively, and his gaze follows to his own lap. Still completely erect, his cock lays flat against you, heavy and pulsating. “No, I think I need to take care of you a little more.”

“Y-you don't have—”

But you've already lifted yourself to your knees, fighting through the quake in your thighs, in order to position the tip of him at your slick entrance. His hands return to your thighs, nails clamping down on your skin.

“But I'm not— condom—”

How cute, he can barely speak. You grin, press a chaste kiss to the dimple on his cheek. “I'm clean. And on the pill.”

“You sure it’s okay?”

It's more than okay, actually. You're too shades shy of being desperate for his cock to split you open, but you're not sure if he'd survive hearing that sentence so you say, “Of course it is baby. Unless… you want me to stop?” If he catches the hint of insecurity in your voice, he doesn't show it. 

Instead, his head is shaking no, vigorously, lower lip jutting out in a pout. 

You smile, and kiss it away, “Okay then. I'll go slow, okay?”

You'd meant it as an empty warning. Really, there's nothing more you want than to impale yourself down on him and ride him like there's no tomorrow. However, as you slowly lower yourself onto his cock, as the blunt tip breaches your entrance and spreads your walls, you realize that going slow is probably more of a necessity. 

He's big. Almost uncomfortably so. 

One sharp exhale from your lips and he's suddenly looking at you in concern, “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” you gasp, although the furrow in your brows suggest otherwise. 

“You don't have to—"

“Hush, baby, I just need a moment.” You say, forcing yourself to relax and take more. The broadest part of his head pushes through, stretching you wider than you've ever been. Soft, keening sounds fill the air. It's hard to know which came from you, or from him.

You look up, and laugh when you realize Spencer's skin is dappled with large red splotches. He's staring at where the two of you are connected, his cock barely fitting inside you. With a deep breath, you roll your hips around, trying to get used to the feeling. He whines again, his torso falling back onto the cushion, “Oh my god,” he gasps, lower lips trembling, “Oh my god, please.”

“Need you to be patient for me, Spence.” you mutter, dropping down a little more. You place one hand on his thigh for balance, while the other wraps around the base of his cock, stroking him to give him some relief. The greedy bastard bucks up, involuntarily, and you hiss as another inch pushes into you before you're ready.

“Spence!”

“Sorry, I'm sorry! Just - oh god, oh god, please, oh did I hurt you?”

And then it happens. Something glimmers on his cheek as it catches the light. And then another. And again, this time on the other cheek. Your hand leaves his thigh to grasp his chin, tilt his head up.

Your boyfriend is crying. Splayed out on the couch, cushions embedded by the sharp joints of his elbows from where he's propped himself up. He's looking up at you with glimmering liquid gathered on the rims of his lashline. Dripping down his cheeks, only to be replaced by another bout. 

“Baby,” You sigh, pouting as you lean down. Soft lips catch his tears, leaving sticky residue on his cheekbones from the remains of your lip gloss, “It's okay.”

Another sob. Large teardrops crawl down his chiseled face.

Knowing that it’s your fault makes a feeling of power surge through you. “You’re so pretty like this, Spence.” 

“Angel, please—”

The sight of his tear streaked face does something to you, your walls relaxing and fluttering as you manage to accept another inch down. His reaction is instantaneous, nails sinking into your hips, head falling back. “No, no,” you say, hand coming to the back of his head, tilting his head forward again, “Look at me.”

Tear streaked and hazy eyed, he manages to keep his head steady in order to maintain eye contact. It’s a little sick, the way this turns you on, but it allows you to sheath his cock further in. 

You lift yourself up, until only the tip remains notched inside you, and his cock gleams with the evidence of your arousal. With a smile, you sink down again, walls fluttering as you take him deeper, until you have about three fourths of his length buried inside you and he’s little more than a puddle. 

A hiss escapes your lips, brows knitting from the stretch. It isn’t just that his length is impressive, it’s that he’s thick too, splitting your pussy open. But now he's buried more than halfway through, giving you enough room to lift yourself up, and sink down again.

You count that as a victory.

He groans, muscles tensing, and you know he's desperately trying not to buck up and meet your movements. With a small smile, you lean close, forehead resting on his. Large, honeyed eyes stare back up at you, still glassy with tears. You repeat the same motion of your hips, moaning as you feel every single ridge and vein of his cock straining inside your walls. 

“Feel good?” you murmur, swiping a stray teardrop with your thumb. 

“Mhmm,” he nods, breath hitching as your movements grow steady. The sting remains, but it's grown dull now that you’ve gotten more used to the size of him.

“Oh god, baby, why haven't we done this sooner?” you whine as you rock on top of him, enjoying the fullness of having him inside of you. The question is rhetorical, but he's in absolutely no state of mind to answer. His hands grip your hips tightly as he sniffles, unable to do anything else except enjoy the ride you're giving him.

Praises leave your lips, murmured in tones cloyingly sweet and half mocking. 

“Crying over sex, you're so lucky I'm so into you.”

“You look so pretty with tears in your eyes baby."

“Never had pussy this tight, haven't you?” 

That last one rips another sob from him, because you know this is his first, that you're making a mockery out of something significant for him. So you soothe with a kiss, and whispers of “I'm sorry, it's okay, you're doing so good, you feel so good.”

You punctuate it by moving faster, your pussy thoroughly comfortable and so wet that there's barely any struggle to bounce on his dick. However, you're still careful, still unable to take him all the way in. You figure it's something you both can work up to, something for the future. The thought makes you smile. 

Besides he doesn't seem to mind, moaning beneath you as you ride him. He seems to have lost all ability to articulate himself, instead just staring at you with red, tear filled eyes and a slack jaw. It makes you giggle, the way he looks so utterly fucked out. 

You clench around him, walls tightening sharply, sending sensations that make the two of you gasp. 

“I-I'm so close.” He manages to say, his hands now helping you, guiding your body as you impale yourself over his cock again and again, “Please, I'm so—”

“I know, baby, I know, you can come.”

His eyes squeeze shut, and his voice is especially strained when he asks, “Inside?”

You tug his hair teasingly, and his kids flutter open again. With a grin, you confirm, “Inside.”

A few more thrusts and he's gone, crying out, squirming desperately beneath you as spurts of his cum paint your walls. You don't stop, riding him continuously as you chase your own release. Thick, creamy liquid drips from your pussy and down the base of his cock with every movement. 

He sobs even more. 

“Touch me,” You whisper, pleading, “Spence, please baby, I'm so close.”

His fingers are at your clit in an instant, rubbing hasty circles as your pace grows erratic and sloppy. 

“Please,” He gasps, looking up at you with glassy, imploring eyes, “Please I wanna feel you come.”

Your body seems attuned to his desperate pleas, because as soon as those words leave his lips, your pussy clenches around him so tightly you both yelp in surprise. He doesn't stop his ministrations on your clit, helping you through your orgasm until you're panting. For the second time tonight, you collapse against him, face buried at the crook of his neck. 

“My god.”

He laughs, breathless, “My god indeed.” 

He shifts, moving slowly so he doesn't jostle your boneless frame too much. There's a hiss from you as he slowly pulls out. You find yourself clenching around nothing, feeling oddly empty after such an intense fullness. 

Silence wraps around both of you, heady and languid. His fingers in your hair, scratching your scalp. Soft intimacy after a whirlwind of lust.

And then he breaks it, so achingly sweet it almost makes you cry, “I'm sorry that I hurt you.”

“Mhm?”

“Earlier,” He clarifies, lips finding your shoulder and staying there. His voice becomes muffled and sheepish, “When I thrust up.”

“I didn't think you'd remember that.” You tease, fingers tangling into his hair and tugging at his curls.

“I've an eidetic memory, remember? I remember everything.” He laughs too. Relief makes his voice sound lighter. “I never want to hurt you.”

“You didn't,” You reassure him, “Well - okay, a little bit, but it's fine. I don't think you meant to.”

“Of course not,” He hums, lips traveling up your neck, “But I'll be more careful next time.”

“Next time huh?”

“Mhm,” Teeth on your jaw. Playful, teasing. “Next time.” 

It sounds like a promise. You know he intends to keep it. 

This was a request by @mggslover lol I forgot to add up top oh well

[ilovolderman]

Friday Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You end up sitting next to Bucky in a casual team dinner.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, flirting, light language, water war (because who can resist a splash battle?)

A/N: this is part 4 of "You Said What?", just some fluff in a universe where you and Bucky secretly date. It can be read on its own and doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3. im loving writing about these two so thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

It’s one of those rare nights at the compound, no missions, no briefings, no surprise alien invasions. Just a Friday. Just dinner. And, somehow, Steve decided it’d be nice if the whole team ate together like one big weird family.

The long table is already half full when you show up a few minutes late, sliding into the only empty seat left, next to Bucky, obviously by coincidence. Totally random. Totally not planned. Totally a miracle.

“Hey,” you murmur, your knee bumping his under the table. You don’t move it.

“Hey,” he says back, low and warm, like it’s just for you. His knee nudges yours in return, the tiniest pressure that somehow makes your chest feel full.

Dinner is loud. Sam’s in the middle of a dramatic story involving a rooftop and a rogue pizza slice, gesturing so wildly he nearly knocks over his drink twice. Wanda is laughing so hard she’s wheezing. Clint and Natasha are arguing about spice levels in the curry. Tony ordered five different desserts “just in case,” and even Vision looks mildly amused.

It’s chaotic. It’s weirdly cozy. And it’s perfect.

Meanwhile, Bucky quietly slides the breadbasket your way before you even ask. Passes you a napkin when you drop yours. Leans over and murmurs a dumb joke under his breath just to make you laugh. And when you both reach for the same dish, your fingers brush—and linger. Neither of you moves.

You glance at him. He’s already looking at you like you’re the best thing he’s seen all night.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whisper, biting your lip.

“Like what?” he asks, faking innocence.

“Like you’re thinking about kissing me at a table full of Avengers.”

He leans in, voice low. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Your breath catches. You blink, trying not to let it show. “Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t kick you under this table.”

“I’d still kiss you.”

“You’re impossible.”

He smirks. “Yeah. But I’m your problem.”

You’re in the middle of pretending to care about Steve and Nat’s back-and-forth on training strategies when your phone buzzes in your lap.

[bucky]: come to the kitchen. 5 mins. say you forgot the hot sauce.

You bite your lip to keep from grinning. He sees it and smiles with just one side of his mouth.

A few minutes later, you slide your chair back, muttering something about needing Sriracha. No one blinks. They're all too busy arguing over which dessert to try first.

You slip into the kitchen.

And there he is. Leaning against the counter, arms crossed, eyes already on you. Like he wasn’t just sitting beside you five minutes ago.

“I’m starting to think I’m more addicted to seeing you than caffeine,” he says, that soft smile tugging at his lips.

You walk right into his arms. He smells like clean laundry and something you can’t place—something that’s just him.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“Tell that to Sam,” he mutters. “He said I’ve been grumpy all week. I was just missing this.”

His fingers brush your cheek, his thumb grazing the curve of your jaw. You lean up and kiss him—quick, soft, sweet. The kind of kiss that says I wish we had more time.

And then you steal another.

And another.

He groans, resting his forehead against yours. “Okay. One more, and then I’m walking back in there like nothing happened.”

You smirk. “You have lipstick on your mouth.”

“Dammit.”

When you both return, the table’s still buzzing, still full of warmth and noise and people who feel like home. Bucky catches your eye as you pass him the dessert like it’s nothing.

But you know. And he knows. And your heart is doing somersaults when Bucky leans in again.

“You’ve got whipped cream on your lip.”

You freeze. Glance at him, wary. “Do I?”

He nods solemnly and you wipe your mouth with a napkin. “Better?”

He tilts his head, eyes sparkling. “Not really. Might need to check later.”

You kick him under the table.

Dinner winds down slowly, plates are half-empty, dessert is more whipped cream than anything else, and everyone’s full in that way that makes you too lazy to move.

Tony’s talking about building a pizza oven on the roof. Clint is inexplicably napping in his chair. Wanda’s stealing bites off Sam’s plate while pretending not to. And you?

Your face hurts from smiling, your stomach’s full, but you still offer to clean up.

“I’ll do the dishes,” you say, already sliding your chair back.

A second later, Bucky glances your way. “I’ll help.”

“Seriously?” Sam teases. “Since when do you volunteer?”

“Since now,” Bucky says coolly, already following you into the kitchen.

You roll your eyes, but your heart is racing.

The kitchen is quieter than the dining room, where the others are still laughing, picking at desserts, arguing over who cheated in charades last week. In here, it’s just you, the soft clink of dishes, and Bucky—close behind you.

You roll up your sleeves and start running the water, pretending your hands aren’t slightly shaking. “You don’t actually have to help, you know.”

“I know,” he says, leaning a hip against the counter beside you. “But I want to.”

You glance at him sidelong. “You hate doing dishes.”

He shrugs. “I’ve done worse.”

You snort, handing him a dish towel. The two of you fall into a rhythm quiet, easy. You wash, he dries. Occasionally your arms brush, and each time it’s like a tiny electric pulse zips up your spine. You tell yourself not to overthink it. You fail.

“You were quiet at dinner,” you say, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn bit of lasagna like it personally offended you. “Well. Except for all the flirting.”

Bucky doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is low. “I like watching everyone like that. Laughing. Being...normal.” He pauses. “I like watching you.”

You freeze, dish half-submerged in sudsy water. Slowly, you turn to look at him. “That supposed to be smooth?”

He grins, shameless. “Did it work?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because he’s looking at you again—that way he does, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and worse, that he means every bit of it. Your heart is somewhere in your throat.

“Bucky,” you say, unsure what comes next.

But then he sets the dish towel down. Steps a little closer. And when you don’t move he reaches up and brushes a wet strand of hair from your cheek.

“You gonna kick me under the sink,” he murmurs, “or are you finally gonna let me kiss you?”

Your breath catches. “There are at least three Avengers in earshot.”

“Then I’ll be quick.”

And he is. But somehow it still feels slow, like the whole world holds its breath for you, just for this. It’s not desperate. It’s not showy. It’s just real. When he pulls back, you blink up at him, dazed. “You call that quick?”

He grins, a little smug. “Told you I’ve done worse.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too. “You missed a spot,” you say, tossing him a still-dripping plate.

He catches it one-handed, totally unfazed. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You bump your hip into his, reaching for a fresh towel. “I tolerate it.”

There’s a beat of silence before he adds, “You know, I kinda like this.”

“The dishes?”

“No. This.” He gestures between you. “You. Me. Elbow-deep in soap. Feels… nice.”

You reach over and flick a bubble at him.

He blinks, deadpan. “Did you just—”

You do it again, giggling. He retaliates by flicking water at your face. You shriek. He laughs.

“What, you can handle HYDRA but not a splash of water?” he teases.

You grab the sprayer.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I dare.”

There’s a short-lived, extremely wet battle that ends with Bucky shielding himself with a dish towel and you both breathless from laughter, leaning against the counter like you’ve run a marathon.

“I think we’re officially banned from post-dinner cleanup now,” you say, still giggling.

“Worth it.”

There’s a pause. He looks at you, hair a little damp, cheeks pink from laughing. And then he leans in again, just because he can. Just because you’re both still smiling.

When he pulls back, he murmurs, “Think we can sneak off to dry off somewhere quieter?”

You grin. “Only if you promise not to start a water war in the hallway.”

“No promises.” But you link your pinky with his anyway.

And that’s when it happens. A very deliberate throat-clear from the doorway. You both freeze like guilty teenagers. Natasha’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, one brow raised like she’s watching a soap opera. “You two done playing splashy-splash, or should I get you floaties?”

Bucky groans softly, his head thudding against the cabinet door behind him. You try to hide behind the dish towel. It doesn’t work.

Natasha steps further into the room, clearly savoring this. “Didn’t know dishwashing came with a swim option.”

“We were just—” you start.

“—cleaning,” Bucky finishes, not even trying to sound convincing.

“Mhm,” Natasha hums, giving you both the kind of look that could peel paint. “You know, for two people trying so hard to look casual, you’re not very good at it.”

Before you can respond, there’s a loud clink from the doorway. Steve steps in, completely unbothered. Holding a slice of pie on a plate like it’s the most important thing in the world.

 “Is everything okay here?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything more. Instead, she shoots you one last look, a knowing glint in her eye. “Alright, alright. Carry on with your... dishes.” She turns, heading toward the door, but not before adding with a teasing smile, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Steve watches her leave, clearly lost in his pie-induced bliss. “What’s her deal?”

You and Bucky exchange an amused look before Bucky mutters, “You really don’t want to know.”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, probably not.”

And just like that, the moment passes. Natasha's suspicion lingers in the air for only a second longer before Steve’s back to his pie, you’re back to drying dishes, and Bucky’s smile is a little too smug for anyone’s good.

next part

[swanlikely]

Zayne's Love Languages!

Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the late upload, had some personal stuff come up, but my zayne girlies must be fed!! Thanks for being patient and understanding, ilysm!!! Check Out The Artist! (Artist & Original Post)

Silence is special: Zayne doesn’t fill space with noise. He doesn’t rush to answer, doesn’t speak unless it matters. But when he’s with you, his quiet isn’t distance: it’s presence. He listens in a way that makes you feel known. He answers you in hums, in looks, in the soft press of fingers against your wrist when he wants you close. And when he does speak, it’s always exactly what you needed to hear.

Care = Love : He notices everything. The faintest crease in your brow, the way your hands tremble when you're overstimulated, the slight hitch in your breath when something’s off. He doesn’t ask “Are you okay?” He just hands you your noise-canceling headphones. Or dims the lights. Or puts a blanket over your shoulders without a word. Every gesture is purposeful, because he never wants to get it wrong with you.

Something sweet for you (always): Zayne has a soft spot for desserts: little candies, pastries, anything warm and sugary. But ever since you came back into his life, he’s started saving the best bites for you. You’ll find them tucked into your bag, left on your desk, set aside with your name written on a sticky note. He doesn’t say why. He just thinks of you, and his first instinct is to give. Because when he thinks of comfort — he thinks of you.

Time bends for you: Zayne’s schedule is brutal. Meetings, surgeries, research. He rarely stops. But if you say you miss him; even offhand, he’ll rearrange everything. Suddenly, he’s at your door. “I had a break,” he’ll lie, even though you know he moved his whole day around. Just for an extra hour with you. Just to sit beside you in silence and breathe a little easier.

Overall: Quality Time (Giving & Receiving)

You’re sitting on the couch, legs tangled, doing nothing in particular — and he looks over at you like it’s the only place he ever wants to be.

“You don’t get bored just... being here with me?” you ask.

Zayne blinks, like the question doesn’t compute.

“No,” he hums softly. “This is what I look forward to.”

[imtired-likerllytired]

Headcanon that bludhaven hates heroes with a flaming passion bc theyre just cops in tights but love Nightwing and therefore vehemently deny his hero status to anyone and everyone.

Like there is no official Nightwing merch bc he’s a criminal he’s committing a crime okay vigilante justice is in fact not legal and he’s not TECHNICALLY on the justice league and he’s NOT TECHNICALLY the leader of the titans anymore. But there are about 400 different Etsy stores that make hoodies, crop tops, joggers, sweats, sunglasses, bracelets, t shirts with nightwings logo or some art of him on them.

Like they love this guy and will get into beef with any Gotham national who tries to claim Nightwing is THEIR hero.

1) hes not a hero he’s a criminal fuck you

2) you have a hero and just bc he’s shit at his job and needs our guy (who is NOT a hero) to help him sometimes doesn’t MEAN SHIT

people are walking around with tiny v shaped blue tattoos or embroidered on clothing but again NOT A HERO BLUDHAVEN DOESNT DO HEROS

There are coffee shops with bad nightwing pun names nightbird, beanwing, nightwinging it and so on

Every third piece of graffiti is this man’s logo

Every sandwich place or fast food chain has a ‘secret menu item’ that’s not actually secret bc everyone orders it and it’s just one of their normal items dyed blue (sodas, desserts, burger buns, condiments so on) some places will sell wings fried in blue panko bread crumbs and call them them ‘nightwings’ ofc these are ALL off the menu you can’t see these items and if you try to order them out of the city you get weird looks.

Superman goes on tv and says Nightwing is one of his favorite hero’s and bludhaven riots. wtf nightwing is your favorite hero you fuckin poser

1) nightwing isn’t a hero he’s a criminal so back off

2) he’s ours you and your frou frou fancy city that hasn’t been nuked by a sentient pile of radiation can fuck RIGHT off

Naturally the only person in bludhaven who is unaware of this is Dick Grayson bc tbh this man is too busy to give a fuck about what his city thinks of him. They trust him to get shit done. Good that’s all he needs okay he has 22 reports he needs to log he’s busy.

Tim Drake professional nightwing fanboy however is fucking furious about this because.

A) dick was a GOTHAM hero FIRST and bludhaven can suck it

B) fuck you nightwing isn’t just a a hero he’s THE HERO and the BEST hero and don’t be rude bc you have a complex

C) all of the cool nightwing merch only ships around bludhaven so has to get it ordered there and it’s just a hassle and he’d pay double he swears just let him get it delivered to where he is please Everytime he stops by bludhaven he leaves with 10 new pieces of nightwing merch and bc he has so much. Damian doesn’t think he notices when some of his doubles mysteriously go missing. He does.

D) since they are anti hero they are firmly unhelpful whenever he or Steph show up bc a case has lead them to the city

The one plus side was watching Jason Todd having a mental breakdown bc apparently in bludhaven redhood counts as a hero and is therefore hated.

“Yous worked with the bat yous a hero thems the rules”

“I KILL PEOPLE”

“Yeah so do cops and people always call them heroes”

“Okay but I kill people to protect the general public I put down scum”

“Cops say they do that too”

“I- okay you know what I’m a hero fine okay. Why isn’t nightwing a hero”

“Vigilante justice is a crime”

“I’m documentably worse than a vigilante”

“But you have worked with the bat”

“For money yeah”

“See you even get paid, face it you’re a hero which means you suck”

“You realize Nightwing has worked with the bat right like way more than I have”

“Listen that ain’t his fault okay, the bats incompetent and so are the rest to you idiots. He’s a nice guy and a good neighbor don’t mean he’s a hero”

“I- what the fuck is in this cities water”

“I don’t fuckin know but it’s prolly better than whatever gothams got in its harbor”

“I- yeah you’re probably right”

[nightplvmes]

the morning after (fluff)

zayne one shot (love and deepspace) the morning after your first time with him⋆｡° | pairing : zayne x fem!reader ⋆｡° | word count : 0.9k (900) ⋆｡° | fluff, no explicit content, the morning after (that) likes and reblogs are appreciated!! :) ★ masterlist here

When you woke up, you felt your eyes burning slightly. You stirred in bed and yawned so you could continue sleeping in complete peace. It took more than a couple of seconds for the memories of the previous night to flood back to you and for you to remember where you were.

When the memory hit you like a bus, you quickly got up, sat on your bed, and looked around. You were definitely not in your room, and you recognized your surroundings too well to confirm that what had happened the night before had been real. You were only wearing your underwear; you didn't even remember having put on underwear the night before. You were so tired that you could only fall asleep without realizing it.

You had gone on some sort of date to Zayne's house the night before; nothing out of the ordinary had happened on other dates. He had cooked for you, you had drunk wine, you had dessert, and then you had watched a movie while you sipped on something that was a hot beverage, but you didn't even remember what it was anymore. You closed your eyes and fell back onto the pillows until your mind returned.

You weren't drunk, you knew it perfectly well because Zayne would never have touched you if he'd known you were even slightly intoxicated. The desserts and the hot drink had helped you come back to your senses in case some of the little wine you'd drunk had slightly clouded your mind because you had a terrible temper when it came to alcohol. You remembered starting with small kisses when at some point in the movie he'd slipped you into his lap. Until the kiss ended up escalating too much.

Your cheeks flushed at the memory. Zayne wasn't someone you were just hanging out with, waiting to see what would happen. Maybe you weren't a couple, but you were absolutely sure you were serious and it was going to happen at some point. When you slid out of bed and looked for your clothes, you couldn't find them… But you did find one of Zayne's shirts. Was that too cliché? Probably, but it was much safer if he'd already left for work.

With that thought, you left the room with a yawn. You walked calmly to the kitchen, and it wasn't until much later that you smelled a sweet scent in the air. Your heart pounded as you considered two options: something was burning and now you had to explain to Zayne why he had to move out, or Zayne was still at home and not actually in the hospital.

The second option won out. You noticed it when you walked into the kitchen and saw him there, moving around, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, totally relaxed and shirtless. Shirtless. He didn't realize you were there until he turned to put something on the table. Zayne's jaw clenched when he saw you at the entrance to the kitchen, his eyes scanning your body and the way you looked in his shirt. "Good morning," he smiled, placing a mug on the table.

"Hi," you mumbled, somewhat embarrassed, as you approached the kitchen island. You took a seat at the table, and Zayne moved the mug he'd previously placed on the table closer to you. It was then that you realized that the coffee was for you. "I thought you'd be in the hospital," Zayne shook his head as he turned off the stove.

"I asked for the day off," he replied normally, placing a kiss on your forehead before taking the seat next to you. Zayne looked away, and you took the time to observe him, how he looked shirtless, still slightly sleepy, and with his hair disheveled.

Something stirred in you. You wanted to wake up like this every day. You wanted to see him shirtless, making breakfast or getting out of the shower, and he'd place a kiss on your forehead before leaving for work. You couldn't stop staring at him, not even when he got up from his chair to check something on the other side of the kitchen. It was at that moment that you slid out of your seat and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around him from behind. Zayne seemed surprised but quickly relaxed in your arms. "I like it like this," you finally spoke after a few seconds of silence.

Zayne turned to look at you, his arms quickly wrapping around you to hug you. "Like this?" he asked as he placed another kiss on your forehead. You nodded, clinging closer to him.

"Waking up with you," you admitted, inhaling Zayne's scent and concentrating on the warmth he gave off. You felt him slide his fingers down your jaw and then to your chin to force you to look up. His lips crashed against yours, a slow kiss, savoring every part of your mouth. Like those times when you know there will be more, because Zayne knew there would be more. He wanted more.

"You have to have breakfast." Zayne kissed your cheek again, then your jaw, and finally pulled back. You nodded because you knew if he kept kissing you like that, you'd probably end up in bed again, much less before the day started. It took you several seconds to return to the real world and realize Zayne had made breakfast for you. You definitely wanted to wake up like this every time.

[eddie4bat-president]

Thinking about Robin's award winning improv performance at the asylum and the Stobin bestie-ism and-

Robin and Steve at a restaurant. Robin forgot to tell Steve she has to leave early because she promised her current crush to help her with a project

Steve: oh I see how it is. You're abandoning me for a chance to see some boobies. (Robin: EW stop!) I have feelings, too, Robin! And boobies! You want me to take them out? I will!

Robin: Oh my god why do I hang out with you- STOP unbuttoning your shirt, you'll get chest hair all over your plate, you animal! I'll make it up to you, I promise! Dessert's on me!

Steve: ... yeah, alright. Let me get into character. (He wiggles in place and shakes his hair) Okay. You done? Because then I'll get this show on the road.

Robin: (wiping some sauce off her plate with a last piece of bread and stuffing it in her face) Yeah, I'm good. Hit me.

Steve: (gradually getting louder) You CHEATED ON ME?!?! (Robin, quietly: oh boy) IN OUR BED???

Robin: I'm sorry, babe, I know I said it wouldn't happen again but- (Steve: You PROMISED!)

Robin: -it just happened...! You were gone on that work trip-

Steve: I had to beg my mother for my grandmother's engagement ring because she knew this would happen... It's at the jeweler getting resized right now!

Robin: and Tommy was just there for me when I needed him-

Steve: TOMMY? My best friend Tommy????

It's at this point that Steve has to drop his face into his hands to hide that the shaking of his shoulders is actually laughter.

Robin: I really am sorry... but uhh what do you think, how many of our wedding plans could be changed to Tommy's name.....?

Steve: (choking on his spit, still hiding in his hands): get out, just GET OUT.

Robin: (while walking out backwards, stumbling into someone's chair) I'm sorry, baby! I still love you! I just love Tommy more!

Someone off to the side is already waving over a waiter to get Steve something chocolate for his nerves, meanwhile waiter Eddie listened in on their conversation as soon as he heard the word "boobies", knows it was all fake and is staring at Steve with hearts in his eyes.

[ilovejb]

| Spoiled Rotten |

Pairing: Sugar Mommy!Scarlett Johansson x fem!College Reader

Summary: You’re a broke college student. Scarlett’s rich, gorgeous, and obsessed with spoiling you. She pays for everything — and when she finally decides to collect? She doesn’t hold back.

Warnings: Age gap (19–20 x ~40s),Sugar mommy dynamic / luxury kink,Domme!Scarlett x Sub!Reader, smut (oral, fingering, praise, light restraint)

Authors note : requested by @veja

The first time Scarlett Johansson bought you something, it was a coffee.

Not a thousand-dollar bag. Not the designer shoes you’re wearing right now. Just a coffee.

You had been standing in line with your messy ponytail, oversized hoodie, and cracked phone screen open to a digital textbook when she tapped your shoulder and said,

“Don’t look at me like that — I can afford your latte.”

You didn’t even recognize her at first.

Now, four weeks later, you’re sitting in the backseat of a black car that smells like her perfume, wearing a dress you didn’t pay for, next to a woman who buys your groceries, texts you about your midterms, and tips in hundred-dollar bills.

“Don’t fidget,” Scarlett says, not looking up from her phone. “You’re going to wrinkle the silk.”

You immediately stop squirming, pressing your thighs together under the hem of the expensive, thigh-length slip dress she picked out for you earlier that afternoon.

“I just…” you say quietly, “I’ve never been to a restaurant with a wine list longer than the menu.”

She hums, amused. “Good thing you’re not paying, then.”

You blush, but you don’t argue.

She tucks her phone away and turns to face you fully, her hand coming to rest gently on your knee.

“You’re nervous.”

You nod, and she tilts her head slightly — the way people do when they’re looking at something sweet. Or maybe fragile.

“You don’t have to impress me,” Scarlett says. “You just have to let me spoil you.”

Your throat feels tight. “But why me?”

Scarlett leans closer. You can smell her — warm skin, soft floral perfume, red wine.

“Because you’re smart. And sweet. And so polite it makes me want to ruin you a little.”

Your breath catches.

“But…” she adds, smoothing your hem like she’s reminding herself not to touch too much. “Not yet.”

Dinner is surreal.

The kind of place that doesn’t show prices on the menu. White tablecloths. Crystal glassware. Waiters who smile at Scarlett like they’re used to seeing her here.

She orders for both of you. Correctly guesses your favorite dessert. Laughs when you ask if they take student ID discounts.

Halfway through the meal, you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. When you return, there’s a small velvet box on your plate.

You stare at it, then at her.

“What’s this?”

Scarlett just smiles, sipping her wine. “Open it.”

You do — slowly — revealing a delicate gold necklace with a tiny “S” charm at the center.

Your jaw drops. “Scarlett, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

You shake your head, flustered. “I can’t afford this.”

She leans in, smirking now. “You don’t have to. That’s the point, baby.”

You’re blushing so hard it hurts. “People are gonna think I’m—”

She cuts you off, voice low and honey-sweet: “Yours.”

You blink. “What?”

She picks up the necklace and stands behind you, draping it around your neck and clasping it gently.

“I want people to know who’s spoiling you,” she whispers by your ear. “And who gets to ruin you… when you’re ready.”

You don’t speak the rest of the meal.

You can’t.

You haven’t told Scarlett you’re at the mall.

You’re not hiding it from her — not really. You just figured it would be… nice, for once, to do something on your own.

You needed socks. That’s all it started as. But then you passed a window display at Aritzia, and that top you’d liked online was suddenly there in real life. Hanging on the rack. Your size. Your color.

You bite your lip and hold it up to your chest in the mirror. It’s a little cropped, with soft lace along the bottom hem. Something Scarlett would like.

Which is exactly why you hesitate.

You’ve let her pay for dinners, bags, rideshares, groceries. You told yourself it was temporary — just until your next student loan deposit. You told yourself you were still independent, even if you let her pick out your shoes.

But now you’re in the changing room, phone on silent, trying on a top you can technically afford, and you feel like you’re cheating on her.

You’re buttoning the last snap when your phone buzzes.

And buzzes again.

You freeze. Your heart jumps.

Scarlett.

Scarlett.

Scarlett.

Scarlett 💋:

Are you trying to sneak around and spend money behind my back, baby?

Scarlett 💋:

I know where you are.

Nordstrom? Really?

Your stomach sinks. You click the next message open with shaking hands.

Scarlett 💋:

Cute top. Try it in white too. I’m buying both.

You turn red, glancing around the changing room like she might be watching you through the mirror.

You:

How did you even—

I didn’t mean to hide it, I swear

I just didn’t want to bother you

Her reply is instant.

Scarlett 💋:

You’re never a bother.

You’re mine. I take care of what’s mine.

A second later, your phone buzzes again — this time with a notification from the store’s point-of-sale system.

Payment Received:

Scarlett Johansson has covered your balance of $264.71.

You exhale a shocked little laugh, one hand covering your mouth.

A knock comes at the dressing room door.

“Hi, uh—Miss? The woman on the phone said you’re all set. She also asked if you could meet her in the car.”

Your jaw drops. “She’s here?!”

The salesgirl shrugs. “Didn’t say. Just said you’d know what that meant.”

Five minutes later, you step out of the store with two new bags in your hands and a face hotter than the sun.

You spot her car almost immediately — the same sleek black one that’s picked you up from class, from your dorm, from her place.

You slip into the back seat.

She’s there.

Not in the front. Not pretending to chauffeur you.

Just waiting in the back, one leg crossed over the other, sunglasses pushed up into her golden hair, one manicured finger tapping her phone screen.

She glances up, finally, and smiles.

“That was fast,” she says softly. “I thought you might try to run.”

You swallow. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“You didn’t think I’d find out.”

You open your mouth to protest, but she raises a hand — calm, casual, in control.

“You’re mine,” she says again, this time quieter. “That means you don’t pay for anything unless I say so.”

You fidget with the handle of the shopping bag. “I just… I didn’t want to seem like I’m using you.”

Scarlett leans forward and slides her fingers under your chin.

“Sweetheart,” she murmurs, voice dark and soft. “If you were using me, you’d be in the front seat. Not here.”

Your breath catches.

“Let me take care of you,” she whispers, thumb stroking your cheek. “That’s all I want.”

You nod, barely.

She smiles, then leans back again — relaxed, satisfied.

“Now,” she says, patting the seat beside her. “Come here. Let me see what I just bought.”

You climb into her lap without question.

You’re wearing the white lace top she picked out. The one that cost more than your entire monthly rent. It barely covers your chest, thin straps sliding down your arms every time you shift. You didn’t wear a bra — you don’t dare. Not when she asked so sweetly not to.

You stand awkwardly near the edge of the hotel bed, trying to act like this is normal.

Scarlett is sitting across from you in the plush armchair, legs crossed, a glass of red wine balanced perfectly in one hand.

She’s been staring at you in absolute silence for three full minutes.

You tug at the hem of your top. “Do you like it?”

Scarlett raises a brow, then smiles — slow, approving, like a cat that’s cornered something soft and trembling.

“You’re breathtaking,” she says, voice low. “But you already knew that.”

You try not to squirm. “I didn’t—”

She sets the wine glass down, rising from the chair with terrifying grace.

“Yes, you did,” she interrupts, walking slowly toward you. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Walking out of that dressing room with flushed cheeks, pretending not to notice how much I wanted you.”

You suck in a breath. She’s so close now you can smell her perfume — warm, smoky, sinful.

“You’ve been teasing me, haven’t you?” Scarlett murmurs, eyes on your lips. “Wearing my gifts. Flashing me those sweet, shy glances. Acting like you didn’t know exactly how good you’d look in this top.”

You shake your head, but your voice betrays you. “I wasn’t— I didn’t mean—”

She smiles.

“Lie down.”

Your knees almost give out.

You obey without speaking, crawling onto the bed and lying back on the cool sheets, heart pounding in your throat.

Scarlett follows, slow and confident, kneeling between your legs. She runs her hands up your thighs, pushing the fabric of your tiny skirt higher and higher.

“Still wet?” she asks casually, as if it’s just polite small talk.

You nod helplessly. “Since the car.”

She hums, pleased. “My good girl.”

You moan softly — that voice, that praise — it’s too much.

She leans in, dragging her fingers up the inside of your thigh, stopping just before your center.

“Are you going to be good for me?” she murmurs, lips ghosting over your ear. “Or do I need to tie those pretty wrists down so you don’t squirm away?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

“I know you will,” she says, and finally slips her hand between your legs.

Your panties are soaked.

She groans softly when she feels it, pressing her fingers over the soaked fabric, watching your face as you twitch under her.

“God, look at you,” she whispers. “You’re dripping for me. You’ve been needy all night, haven’t you?”

You nod, barely able to speak.

“Use your words.”

“Yes—Scarlett, I’ve wanted you all day—please—”

She hooks her fingers in the waistband of your panties and tugs them down, leaving you fully bare. You cover your face with your hands, humiliated at how wet you are — at how easily she’s got you falling apart.

Scarlett laughs softly. “Shy now? After all that teasing?”

You whimper, and she grabs both your wrists, pinning them above your head in one hand.

“Keep them there,” she commands. “Or I stop.”

You nod, breathless.

She lowers her mouth to your inner thigh first, kissing and sucking little marks into your skin. Teasing.

You buck your hips slightly. “Please—”

And then she licks one slow stripe up your slit.

You gasp, thighs clenching, wrists tightening where you’ve held them. Her tongue is so warm, so deliberate, and she hums like you taste better than the wine she left behind.

“Oh my God—Scarlett—please don’t stop—”

She doesn’t.

She eats you out like she owns you — like this is what she’s been thinking about since the second she saw you in that top. Her tongue works in slow, deep circles over your clit, then dips lower, teasing your entrance. You’re moaning now, loud, unable to stop it.

And then, without warning, she slips two fingers inside you.

You scream.

“Scarlett—!”

“That’s it,” she growls, thrusting slow and deep. “Let me hear you. I want the whole damn floor to know who’s fucking you tonight.”

Your body is shaking now, hips lifting off the bed, thighs trembling on either side of her shoulders.

She curls her fingers just right — just right — and you nearly sob.

“Right there—please, right there—!”

“You’re so tight, baby,” she pants. “So perfect for me.”

“I’m gonna cum—I—Scarlett—”

She pulls her mouth off just long enough to say, “Then do it. Be a good girl. Cum for your mommy.”

That’s all it takes.

You come undone, clenching around her fingers with a cry so loud you’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so fucking gone.

She keeps fucking you through it, working you until your legs are useless, until you’re whimpering and twitching and begging her to stop — or not stop — you don’t even know anymore.

Eventually, she slows. Withdraws.

And kisses you. Deep, hungry, full of ownership.

“You did so well, baby,” she whispers, brushing your hair back. “You’re mine.”

You nod, dazed. “Yours.”

“Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

She lifts you gently, pulling you into her lap and wrapping the silk sheet around your body.

She feeds you strawberries from the minibar. Wipes your inner thighs with a warm cloth. Kisses your neck while you melt against her.

“You’re going to wake up sore,” she murmurs, amused.

You laugh into her shoulder. “I’ll survive.”

“I’ll send a car for you in the morning,” she adds. “And a new outfit. Something soft. You’ve earned it.”

You hum, eyes fluttering closed.

You’ve never been more wrecked in your life.

You’ve also never felt more loved.